


Morgue Work

by the_welsh_woman



Series: The Incident in Derry [2]
Category: IT, IT (2017), IT - Stephen King, reader insert fic - Fandom
Genre: F/M, NSFW, Other, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, some disturbing imagery, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 05:39:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12474676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_welsh_woman/pseuds/the_welsh_woman
Summary: Sequel to 'Something in the Water'.You managed to flee Derry alive, escaping the clutches of the demon clown who vowed to see you again.  But little did you know,  Pennywise always keeps his promises.





	Morgue Work

'Oh,' you said suddenly taking a sniff at your fingertips and making a face. 'They still smell.'

Looking up from her sandwich, your colleague first focused on your wrinkled face and then onto your still upraised fingers. She watched as you lifted your other hand to visually inspect and then cautiously sniff.

You looked beyond your fingers, which were spread apart resembling a deck of fanned cards that you were waiting for an unsuspecting audience member to pick a card, any card, and met her gaze. She gave you a quizzical expression and self consciously you curled your fingers in towards your palms. Not only did your hands smell, but the skin around your nails was rough and discoloured.

Not exactly a good look, you thought and clapped your hands about the waxed paper bowl of your pot noodles.

'Eau de formaldehyde' June said and a wry, understanding grin tugged at her dimpled cheek.

You ducked your head and noisily slurped up a mouthful of spicy noodles. Chewing them, sucking in quick cooling breaths as they were hot and you were about to burn the inside of your mouth, you shook your head.

'I dunno,' you replied, still chewing. 'Something else... sewer maybe... fish.'

She glanced at your lunch bowl, watching the swirl of oil slowly undulate amongst the half eaten noodles.

'Says chicken, though,' she said nodding towards your lunch.

It took a moment for you to understand what she was saying and rolling your eyes, you ignored her obviously and intentionally obtuse response.

'On my fingers!' you laughed, holding both hands palms up before curling them into claws.

'Hmm,' she said. 'Smell mine. Chicken or fish?'

The chair squeaked on the white lino when she leaned across the small lunch table and waggled her fingers beneath your nose. You sat back quickly as not to get poked in the eye and lifted your hand to wave her hands away.

'Ah, God! You're something else, you know that?'

She flopped down into the chair again and smiling at you, she went back to eating her sandwich.

The two of you finished your lunch in companionable silence for a while and you felt yourself smiling. It was a happy little private smile which reflected how you felt inside. It had been a long time since you had been able to sit and eat and relax. It had been a long time before you started sleeping through the night without seeing his face each time you closed your eyes. It had been a long time before you even felt human again. Your little experimental excursion to Derry, Maine had detrimentally impacted you more than you could have ever imagined. In fact even though you could eat and sleep like a human, walk and talk like a human you were not the same person that you were before the trip. Nothing was the same. You had lost touch with your mates. In fact you had lost touch with practically everyone from your old life. You were a clean blank slate drifting from one temporary life to another over the course of the two years after the incident.

The incident.

It sounded so harmless, so professional, so mundane, like it was a mere minor traffic accident that had happened on a rainy afternoon. It sounded like a government cover-up. And, to an extent, you and your research colleagues had covered everything up. No more lying for grant money. All of the evidence was either burned in a rusted barrel on the bad side of town so that it couldn't be easily traced, or reasoned away with paper thin explanations.

And although you all had washed your hands of the incident and then literally scattered to the four winds, you couldn't let it go. You couldn't forget it, and though the pain of it had faded just a bit, you still bore the marks of your deviant foolishness.

'So, what happened?' asked the woman sitting across from you.

She jerked her chin in your direction. You looked down at yourself, thinking that you'd spilled something on your shirt front.

You frowned.

'What?'

''That.'

One dark red fingernail flicked at, but didn't quite touch the upside down frown of jagged scar tissue that nearly consumed the entirety of your hand. Embarrassed that she had said something, you snatched your hand away and punched your fist into your thigh beneath the table. Startled by your reaction, she was immediately contrite.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'm really... look you don't have to -- it was stupid of me to say anything.'

A tightening at the corner of your mouth fought for dominance over a regular smile. You clenched your scarred hand and the damaged muscle stretched reluctantly. Could you trust her? Could you tell her what happened down in the sewers of Derry? Could you tell her about the clown?

Shit, even thinking it sounded insane in your head. What reasonable person would believe you?

'It's nothing,' you said finally, feeling more comfortable with the lie, but the look on her face didn't appear relieved, so you reached out and lightly touched the back of her forearm. 'Really.'

She smiled that sweet little cupie-doll smile of hers. It was all so very normal now and you loved her for it.

'Really, really?" she asked and the both of you laughed.

'Ah, I was just being stupid a few years ago, got my hand caught in between the edges of a circular saw.'

You saw her eyes widen in terror and lower to your hand.

'No! No, the saw wasn't on. Just handling the blades without gloves. It was ahh... stupid. I know.'

She let out a breath.

'Oh, ok, nothing exciting,' she teased.

No, nothing exciting at all, you thought.

Well at least she bought the story and you sighed inwardly with relief.

That knot that had developed in your stomach loosened and you started to feel human once more.

The two of you had worked together for little more than a year. She had been the senior morgue tech who'd trained you in your current job position of morgue assistant where you'd spent your days, and a lot of your nights, picking up bodies - the decedents as they were called- from hospitals and eldercare homes and transporting them to the funeral home where you worked.

And if that wasn't glamorous enough, you - as the newbie- had been given the pleasure of all the funeral home's paperwork. Well, not all of it, but a huge chunk of it. Forms upon forms upon forms. There was a lot that went into the business of dying. And it was indeed a business, you found out. Your boss was a thin pleasant woman with a soft voice and long tightly manicured braids. She wasn't the stereotypical stooped creepy dude who tented his gnarled fingers and invited you for poisoned tea in his dusty backroom. No, she was a sweet woman, who was neat and prompt and happy to run her own funerary business.

Surprisingly enough, you had not been turned off by the dead. In fact, you were more comforted by them than you had been with the living breathing ones and you weren't sure how to process that. So, you didn't. Instead, you stuffed those feelings deep inside and got on with your work. You didn't think about the bodies.

You worked.

You didn't think about your scar.

You worked.

You didn't think about Derry.

You worked.

You didn't think about It.

 

You shovelled more noodles into your mouth and then the wall phone began to ring. The two of you exchanged weary looks and she got up to answer it.

'What is it?' you asked when she returned to the table and began cleaning up the remnants of her meal.

'That was Sasha. They found a body by the sewage treatment station.'

Sasha was June's contact in the wild world of the coroner's office. Anytime anything weird went down in the small town, it was your wall phone that rang, brimming with gruesome and grisly news. A nervous thrill jangled through you and you glanced at the phone as if you would be able to glean more information much faster that way.

'The sewage treatment....' you repeated and just the mention of the word 'sewer' made you feel sick to your stomach.

'You ok?' she asked, putting a light hand on your shoulder. 'You look like you've seen a ghost or something... you do know there are ghosts here. Did you see one?'

You shook your head abruptly as you were unable to speak. Standing as well, you collected your own lunch and dumped it into the rubbish bin, no longer feeling hungry. Rubbing the back of your neck, you glanced sheepishly at your colleague.

'Well, now what? We wait?'

She grinned.

'No, you head on over there and see what's happening. I can't leave. I have to stay here. We've got someone coming in after lunch.' She glanced at her watch, 'which should be in a few. '

I don't want to go, you nearly said. I don't want to go back to the sewers. That's where--

'O.k.,' you croaked instead. 'What will you tell the boss?'

Not having an official call to pick up a body would look suspicious if you took the van.

'Don't worry about it,' she laughed. 'It's fine, you're fine. I promise. Just go and... have a look around, take some photos and report back. Remember, it's our own little sleuthing club.'

Warming to the idea, you found yourself nodding along before she even finished speaking. It was just a little recon mission, right? Your little sleuthing club. You two did it all the time, but usually with lousy results. Nothing insane went on in that town, just the regular old person passing away in their sleep, dead animal clogging up a drainage pipe, homeless drunkards drowning in the river-- same old same old. You grabbed your coat and pulled on your grey tweed flat cap before shouldering your messenger bag. Giving your colleague a grin, you mock tipped your cap and left through the back door.

Cold October air smarted in your lungs as you made the quick walk to your car. There was nothing that you hated more than the weird icy dampness that had descended upon the town during the week before Halloween. It was just hard to stay warm and dry and all it made you want to do was stay cuddled up inside. And trying to get a peep at a dead body at the sewer station was not very high on your list of things that you had planned to do that day. But you were sleuthing and sleuthing meant finding dead bodies jammed into the most peculiar of locations. The car door squeaked as you pulled it open and whined when you yanked it shut. Slipping the key into the ignition, you pressed down on the brake and in spite of the cold, the engine turned over easily. Programming your mobile phone map, you waited for the soft female voice to say that it was okay for you to begin, before driving off.

Though cold and wet, it was a pretty autumn afternoon. Not only that, it was also sufficiently spooky, with bowing dying trees and opaque fog drifting lazily across the two lane logging road. But you weren't really worried for you were safe in your car. You knew that if you saw something, you could speed off. But hey, nothing crazy happened in that town, right?

You switched on the radio, tuning it to a horror podcasts on one of the public radio channels. You'd caught it partway through so you had to listen to a horrified man screaming about something monstrous watching him through a crack in his bedroom wall.

Perfect, you thought. This was exactly what you needed.

You leaned back, relaxed and the map woman's voice chirped that you had twenty minutes left in your trip. Not bad, you'd be back in time to close up and go home at a reasonable hour. A little farther down the road, a flash of red caught your attention. With a panicked yelp, you whipped your head to the left to frantically pinpoint the source. To your relief, it was only a hand lettered sign indicating that the search and rescue team was practicing in the area.

There were no balloons.

'Oh God,' you sigh, breathing out the breath you were holding. 'Get it together, girl. '

As you drove on, you scratched at your scarred hand, tracing the indentations that the monster's teeth had made in your hand. He'd marked you. He'd taken you as his and he'd marked you.

Growling to yourself, you turned up the radio's volume as a distraction. Those kinds of creeping thoughts were toxic. Two people on the podcast were screaming now accompanied by the sickening slick crunching of muscle and bone. What the hell was going on, you wondered. But before you could come to a conclusion, music signalling the end of the podcast blared out of the speakers and you rushed to turn it down so that you could hear the mobile map directing you to the right place to go.

The directions to the plant were a bit tricky but soon you were able to see the sewage treatment plant sign, and you turned onto the long semi private gravel drive.

At the end of the road, there was a single ambulance idling at the gate leading to the treatment plant and you pulled up behind it. A moment later, the ambulance drove forward beneath the rising security gate arm. The police officer who had been standing outside the security booth, turned his gaze to you and you shrank a bit in the seat. Were you going to be able to talk your way into the scene? The cop tilted his head and impatiently waved you forward. You let the car roll slowly towards the booth and the gate arm came down right in front of you. You wound the window down as the cop approached. Taking out your identification card, feeling like a fool, you gave the cop your best smile. He didn't look very happy to be standing out there in the cold talking to idiots like you.

'I'm with the funeral home. Sasha called?'

He looked at your id and then at your face.

'Sasha, huh? She called you directly, did she?'

You shrugged. 'I guess.'

'You guess? Either she did or she didn't.'

Oh, he was trying to be a son of a bitch, was he? Direct, no nonsense seemed to work on those types so you gave it a try.

'Excuse me, sir. But I need to get to work, if you don't mind.'

He studied you a moment longer and then stepping back, he waved you on. You held in your grin of triumphant until you were well beyond the security booth and driving down the long narrow road that led to the main buildings. Up ahead you could see the collection of people standing at the edge of one of the large tanks that was near to the river. You parked, got out of the car and buttoned up your coat. No one paid much attention to you and you didn't mind that they were leaving you alone. You really weren't supposed to be there anyway, so you didn't want to draw too much attention.

Rummaging about in your messenger bag, you drew out your small Polaroid camera. Sure, you could have taken photos with your mobile phone, but there was something so pleasingly retro about the old camera you'd picked up from a charity shop that you used it more often than not. And what better way to capture a grisly scene than with sketchy film.

Walking as if you belonged there, you came to stand beside two tall men dressed in a white Tyvek jumpsuits and booties. They did not spare you a glance, so you edged beyond them and towards a small knot of people who seemed to be looking at something floating in one of the fat squat grey tanks. Standing this close to the effluvia being pumped in and around the area left a metallic tang in your mouth. The taste of it was familiar and disturbing. You'd had that same taste in your mouth before. You had become accustomed to it during your months spent in the sewers in that fucking podunk town in Maine. That town of nightmares, your nightmares and now the taste was coating the back of your tongue again. Working up some saliva you looked around for a place to spit it. There were too many official people around and you didn't want to draw any attention to yourself so you swallowed it.

A sharp noise caught your attention. A jingle.

A tinkle of bells.

Sucking in a horrified breath you snapped to attention and frantically looked around for the source of the noise.

'Oh God,' you murmured, pressing the backs of your knuckles to your lips as to stop yourself from crying out. 

There was nothing. No dirty, weathered silver suit. No flame red hair. No bells. Nothing. He wasn't there.

You stood there for a moment longer, glad for the cold that numbed your extremities.

'You all right?'

Broken from your muse, you turned quickly towards the speaker and an unexpected laugh forced its way out of you.

'No, no, I'm fine. I'm ah... good.'

The woman smiled.

'Well, that's good.' A questioning frown creased the weathered skin between her eyebrows. 'Who are you?'

Your hands immediately and defensively clutched at the strap of your bag and you mentally shifted through the items in your bag that you thought could serve as your identification. You had your actual identification card, but you were not willing to give that up. Did you really want to identify yourself to this unknown woman, even though she looked official and like she belonged at the scene?

'I'm from the...funeral home.'

That was the safest choice. Keep it vague.

'We haven't alerted anyone yet,' she said, her eyes growing suspicious and cold.

Your heart clenched. Panic.

'No? Umm well s-someone rang us and...'

'Where's your van, then?'

She looked beyond you, eyes searching the stretch of cars parked just beyond the security gate.

Shit. You were going to get arrested for stupidity. You turned a bit and followed her gaze towards the vehicles. You tapped a finger against your chin, mind whirring, reaching for an explanation for the missing van. Instead you turned the question around on her.

'Um, and who are you?'

Stalling usually worked in the movies, so what did you have to lose. The woman's frown deepened and she snapped the walkie-talkie from her wide leather belt. With her eyes pinned to yours, she pressed the speak button.

'Hey! Come on. What's taking you so long!' shouted another woman's high pitched voice that you recognised as belonging to Sasha. She was standing with the people near to the grey tanks and when she saw you catch sight of her, she waved and smiled brightly.

Without saying anything to the woman who had stalled in her attempt to have you hauled away, you rushed off to Sasha's offered protection.

'Hello you,' she twittered.

'Hi,' you smiled in return, grateful to have been inadvertently rescued.

''Sorry,' she said as you drew close. 'I forgot your name.'

You shrugged. 'It's fine. So ah, what happened?'

Sasha lifted her shoulders against the sudden gust of wind and turned her attention to the tank.

'A floater,' she said, with a gleeful conspiratorial whisper. 'A bloater.''

'Who?'

'Don't know yet. They're still checking it out.

'It's still in there? In the water?'

'They all float,' she said and you jerked.

'Whatdidyousay?'

Sasha was grinning at someone out of your eye line, and really not paying that much attention to you or your sudden distress.

'Mr. Kasden over there has protocols and other nonsense to go through before they get the hooks out.'

They used to fish bodies out of the water with iron hooks, because they didn't care that they tore the skin during the recovery efforts. These days, depending on the situation and the type of crime scene, they used nets and divers and cranes. But you didn't bother to correct her about the hooks because she was smiling. You got the impression she was trying to be edgy. Pursing your lips, you moved closer to where you could just barely see over the edge of the tank and the dark water beyond. What you could see were legs and the backs of white trainers. The body was lodged somehow, probably caught in the grating and was floating a bit upside down. You snapped a few photos and furtively shaking them so that they would develop faster, you dumped them into your bag without looking at what images you'd captured.

As the investigation went on, you floated on the edges, snapping photos and staying out of the way. When the body was lifted in the net, dripping and swollen like a fish, it was hard to form an idea of what you were looking at. It was vaguely human shaped and wore dark trousers, white trainers and a white tee shirt. There was something long dangling from his mouth.

You watched as the body was lowered onto the tarps and then turned onto its back. The investigators puzzled over the body for a moment and one of them hunched over and with gloved hands, he snagged the line that trailed from the corpse's mouth and pulled. You held your breath.

What in hell was trapped in that distended mouth?

The man seemed to be pulling and pulling and pulling the line out forever before he stepped back in surprised when the body convulsed and something red and rubbery flopped out of the mouth. With bile rising in the back of your throat you heard yourself moan softly.

Oh, God.

The red thing wriggled across the body's chest like a air drowning trout and started to inflate. The spectacle began to draw attention and people moved closer. You heard someone say, 'what the hell?' as the red thing rose into the grey cloudy air and swelled into a tear drop shaped balloon. Your heart thundered against your rib cage like a wild rabbit desperate to escape and a scream rose in your throat. Pain and panic knifed through you making you take several steps back. You had to run. You had to get away. Get out, get out get out!

The balloon wobbled above the crowd and seemed to wait until it had garnered everyone's attention, before it strained and then exploded with a loud bang, splattering everyone with a dark fluid. Barely muffling a terrified scream, you turned and ran back to your car.

'Where are you going?' called Sasha, behind your fleeing form, but you didn't stop.

You probably couldn't have stopped yourself even if you'd tried.

Skidding beside your vehicle, you reached out, pressed both hands against side of the car and tried to collect yourself. Breathing in deeply through your nose and out through your mouth, you tried to talk yourself out of puking up your pot noodles.

Please, please please, you begged your stomach hoping to quiet its churning. When the wave of nausea subsided, you threw yourself into the car and roared off.

Thankful that there was no security arm where the cars exited, you drove down the long drive and away at a frantic pace. You took that same back road back to the funeral home and again when that flash of red caught your eye, your mind told you that the search and rescue people were still out in the woods going over their drills. You looked expectantly towards where the sign had been, wondering if you could catch a glimpse of the team working in the woods.

Only it wasn't the sign about the search and rescue team that you'd seen earlier. Instead it was a bunch of scarlet coloured balloons held by a grey suited clown who was standing just off the side of the road in the tall grass. Your mind stuttered to a halt and everything in your world narrowed down to that one image.

Pennywise.

A strangled whining cry squeezed its way out of your tight throat and hummed against the backs of your clenched teeth. The clown lifted one hand and pointed a finger at you as you sped by. You choked the steering wheel in your bloodless fists and stomped onto the gas pedal. The car lurched forward with a growl and the force threw you back into the seat. The seatbelt briefly tightened and locked across your chest and you rocked back and forth a little to get it to unlock. Trembling, you peered into the rear view mirror.

The clown was gone. And you weren't even sure if you had seen what you thought you'd seen. Could you even trust your own eyes anymore? It didn't matter, you needed to get back to the funeral home where it was safe.

You didn't stop panicking and your breathing didn't return to normal until you back in the funeral home's car park. There was one other car in the lot and you parked close to June's car.

'You're all right,' you muttered to yourself.

You're all right, don't worry. Oh God... what was he doing here? This wasn't Derry, this was such a long way away, so far that you thought you were going to be safe from his touch. You shuddered at unexpected twitch of warmth between your legs at the thought of being touched by him again.

He was a monster. What he did to you was grotesque and the fact that you had mindlessly luxuriated in that depravity still disturbed you. But if you were honest, it still thrilled you as well. He had survived all this time and was making good on his promise to /see you soon/.

Would he also finish what he started? Would he kill and consume you? Were you even worth the effort? Were you still tasty?

Slowly your hands slid from the wheel and you slumped back against the seat. Relief left you feeling weak and boneless and you closed your eyes as unbidden images of him drifted into your consciousness. You remembered the sound of his raspy voice, the scent of that ghost white skin, the heat of his fingers as they probed inside you. Oh how you delighted in all of it. You slipped one hand down between your thighs and pressed fingers against the inner seam of your trousers. But before you could apply enough pressure, you curled your fingers self consciously away.

Grabbing your bag, you went back out into the cold and dashed into the funeral home.

'June?' you called.

June was nowhere to be found. You glanced into the small backroom where the two of you had been having lunch, and then went down the hall to look into the main office.

As you walked around in the warm silence, you remembered that the small funeral home was surprisingly pleasant and pleasingly retro and vintage. It was specifically done that way to give grieving families some place serene to mourn and to view their beloved dead. You touched one of the display urns on a low side table as you walked up the thickly carpeted hallway to the cooler. The cooler was where the bodies were stored either before or after embalming. There were photos of swans on the walls which made you smile each time you saw them.

You shouldered opened the swinging double doors and reached out blindly feeling along the inner wall. Your fingers snagged the switch and the fluorescent tube lights flickered and then came on. Looking around, eyes squinting in the bright white light, you confirmed that there was no one there. There was only Mr. Blake stretched out on one of the gurneys and wrapped tightly in a pale peach coloured shroud. Mr. Blake had not been embalmed, he was going to have a compassionate burial, where he was only gong to be buried in a shroud sans coffin. He just needed to stay on ice until the ceremony. Turning away, you walked back up the corridor and towards the front room where you nearly collided with June.

'Where have you been?' she asked, half laughing, half gasping in surprise.

'I was at the sewage treatment plant, where were you?'

You didn't mean to demand the facts of her whereabouts and she cocked her head and frowned.

'Got freaked out?' she guessed from the tone of your voice.

You took in a long breath the nodded mutely. She put a reassuring hand on your arm and patted you. Shaking her off, glad to have her company nontheless, you remembered that you had photos to go through and you changed the subject.

'Oh! I took pictures.'

Her frown melted away and was replaced with a look of delight.

'Ooo, show me. What was it? A floater?'

'Definitely a f--floater,' you stammered, still hating that word.

June followed you back to the break room and you went to retrieve your bag. You fished out all of the small Polaroid snaps and spread them out onto the lunch table, pretending that you were setting up your very own crime scene screening. Smiling you touched one of the photos and smoothed down the bent edge. Folding her hands behind her back, June bent over the photo spread with interest.

'Ooo, these are great. This guy was definitely in the water for a few weeks. I'm surprised that it took him so long to block up the ducts.'

'Maybe he didn't die in the water,' you guessed quietly. 'Maybe he was dumped way down at the far end and it took that long to get to the plant.'

'Muuuuurder,' June purred. 'Yes, I like the way you think.'

You looked through the photos for the shot you got of the floating balloon. But it wasn't there. You scanned them again then dug through your bag to see if you were missing it. Nothing.

'What are you looking for?'

'I had umm... another.'

How were you going to explain that you saw the cop pull a red balloon from the man's mouth, that then inflated, exploded and drenched the onlookers with questionable fluid.

'Nothing. Never mind,' you said.

June smiled and put a hand on your shoulder.

'Well done, darling.'

She was quiet for a moment.

'You going to be ok closing up tonight?'

'Yes,' you replied. 'It's only for a few hours.'

June nodded.

'You'll be fine. So ... all right. I'm off. You have my number if something goes wrong, or if something comes in and you can't handle it, ok? Don't call the Missus. Call me, right?'

'Right,' you nodded and gave her a salute.

June nodded and left you alone.

You busied yourself with cleaning and taking care of all of the end of day paperwork. You liked when the funeral home was dark and quiet as it was extremely peaceful and strangely wonderful. You left cleaning the cooler for last.

'I hope you enjoy the ceremony, Mr Blake,' you said aloud and glanced at the shrouded body. 'I'm sure I will,' you answered for him and chuckled.

The back door bell buzzing made you jump. It was a sound that you had not been expecting. Resting the mop against the wall, you tiptoed across the freshly washed floor, went out through the double doors, to the adjoining room, moved to the wide receiving doors, pushed open the deadbolt and pulled one of the doors open. It was a cool moist evening and the chill of the night rushed in about your ankles. You had already schooled your features into you 'mourning face', the face that you used when you spoke with anyone coming from other funeral homes and with other body farmers. But there was no one standing there on the landing.

You closed the door quickly as you weren't about to go out there looking around for pranksters. You were there alone and you were not equipped to handle any trouble. Raising up on your tip toes, you peered out of the spy-hole and still saw no one lurking in the fast approaching gloaming.

You waited for a moment longer, quietly holding your breath and when you realised that nothing else was going to happen, you sighed and went back to the cooler to finish cleaning. When you returned the room was dark, as the light was on an automatic timer and you flicked on the lights again.

The scream froze in your throat as the swinging doors clacked against your back.

'Hiya.'

The voice was rough and squeaky. Just as you remembered much to your clear horror.

His ruby wet mouth bowed into a grin and his blue eyes gleamed as if lit from the inside. Pennywise stood next to Mr. Blake's body, one big hand hovering over the man's abdomen. He prodded it curiously and you let out an involuntary gasp. If Pennywise decided to destroy the body, there was no way you were going to explain that away. You weren't talented enough to convincingly sew up a vicious capricious mauling.

'No. No, please.'

At the sound of your voice, Pennywise jerked his head towards you and you saw him sniff the air like an eager puppy experiencing the presence of a treat for the first time.

'Not so good at hiding now, are you. No more cages. Nooo more pain for me.'

He tapped his forehead right above his arched brow and it was as if the two years meant nothing. You were right back there in the sewers with the clown in the cage. You were right back there torturing him for your own experimental purposes. You were there and he was waiting for you.

His eyes flashed and you tightened unpleasantly.

'Remember?' he squeaked. 'Ohhh, you remember. I can see that you remember.'

He was mocking you now and the pleasure on his face because he now had the upper hand (like the one you'd held over him) lit a flame of anger in you.

He drew in another long, decadent breath and flicked his tongue over his plump lips.

'Your fear. I can sense it. I can tassste it.'

Pennywise stalked towards you. His gleeful grin brightened and he was just as you remembered him. Nothing about him had changed. The same form fitting grey satin-like costume, the wild flame red hair and cracked white skin. The grinning visage that had haunted your dreams and there he was, now, in the flesh and you just couldn't run. No, you couldn't run, but did you really want to? He promised that he was going to come for you again and you were torn between escape and giving yourself up to his impending caress.

Big hands closed about your waist, fingers fitting beneath your rib cage, and he was lifting you effortlessly, possessively, until the two of you were face to face. The heat from him was incredible, reflecting the furnace of ravenous desire raging within him. His eyes glistened with liquid anticipation and drifted from blue to what looked like shiny pools of molten gold. The effect was hypnotic and it took all of your will not to mentally fall into them. It was not the time to lose your mind when the heat of the moment was at its height. You needed to be clear headed. You needed to have all of your wits as to not be devoured by him.

The hands squeezed a gasp out of you and you kicked at the empty air, not quite struggling, at least not yet, but close enough that he shook you to keep you still.

'You owe me a meal,' Pennywise rasped, eyes sweeping up and down your body.

You could smell the hunger emanating from him. It was a deep dark scent that lingered like a smear of melted chocolate on the back of your tongue. He was humming, giggling, jittery with anticipation to the point that he could barely contain himself. This was it. The moment had finally come.

With sour panicked sweat dripping down the middle of your back you grabbed his forearms, fingers digging into the tough sinewy muscle there.

In response the hands increased their pressure, holding you in just the right spot, pressuring your ribs to flex and give and the strain caused each rib connected to your spine to begin screaming. Nearly overwhelming, the pain seeped into every particle of your being, blurring your vision but a lapping of pleasure began to surge like incoming waves in your belly. Warmth suffused your skin, rolled up into your chest, hardened your nipples revealing with sweet clarity the awakening of your joy. This was not lost on Pennywise. The smell of you was incredible and he sucked you down with long delectable gulps. Your pent up expression of fear and arousal toyed with his senses and he tongued it from the roof of his mouth.

You looked into his eyes and watched as your trembling hands rose to cup his face, thumbs tracing the red lines trailing from the corners of his drooling mouth up the apples of his cheeks and bisecting his eyelids. He went rigid beneath your hands, and his eyes began to droop shut. You trailed the pads of your thumbs back down those streaks of blood red and words trembled out of you.

'I--I want...'

His eyes suddenly snapped open, and the fury was plain. The change in expression took you by surprise and before you could understand what was happening, you were flying, coming to an abrupt halt when the cold surface of the embalming table smacked against you. He had thrown you down against the nearest horizontal surface (that wasn't currently housing a body) without as much as a warning. A guttural groan of delight oozed from your lips. You knew exactly what was coming and you were hungry for it. You reached for him as he grabbed your hips, jerked you to the edge of the table and up into a sitting position. Claws came out and shredded your trousers, then ripped them away from you, exposing your trembling flesh. You shimmied out of your knickers much to his visible delight.

'Yes, yes,' he hissed, with glee.

You went hot with shame.

Look at you, you thought. Look at what you're doing.

'Look at me,' you whispered to yourself. 'Look at what I'm doing.'

For you. For you, look at how I surrender myself. Look as how I am starved for you. For you. Only you.

The wet drooling grin turned hungry and he was upon you in a flash. The weight of him instantly wrenched you back into the memory of your first night together. The night terror and the pain and the sex.

'Tasty, tasty,' he murmured, tongue flickering out to lap across your lower lip as one hand went down to open his trousers. Anticipation burned inside you and you wanted to look down, to finally see him in the light, but his warning growl distracted you.

Hands pulled you closer to the edge of the table, spreading your thighs and leaning you back so that you were off kilter and at his mercy. You shuddered and moaned as his thick hot flesh slid agonisingly slow into you.

You arched, still held up by the hand on your back as the world fell silent, in order for you to fully appreciate what was being done to you without the distraction of lustful noises. Pennywise was quiet, looming over you, his eyes burning with a secret fire, and he pulled out then slammed back into you. A ragged gasp burst from you and your eyes flew open, but saw nothing.

You let him take you mercilessly like this. You had dreamt of this moment, the moment when your body would have the pleasure and privilege to envelop him again. Skin to skin, sealing the memory of him into your very being, letting him consume you in fire. The whisper of his breath against your mouth was warm and you lifted your chin, capturing his plush mouth with a possessive kiss. Pennywise jerked back in apparent surprise at the tenderness of your kiss. You leaned into him again, eyes closing, seeking him blindly again. He shoved you away, but you fought back, the want burning you up inside. You didn't want to be apart from him. You were his and only his.

Hooking one leg about him, you gave yourself up to the power of his thrusts. Everything focused on the throbbing aching pleasure swelling inside your thrashing body, that tiny little itch, that spark being fanned into a tempestuous blaze, you were gasping, breathless, clenching about him right there, right there, right there! Everything was happening so fast, like a train speeding unfettered down a steep cliff face. And at that moment, you froze, your orgasm crashing down upon you until you saw grainy black against your tightly closed eyelids. You went limp in his embrace and consciousness slipped sweetly away.

When you woke, you were still lying on the cold embalming table. To your surprise, you were fully dressed. Well, dressed as much as your still intact clothes could cover. Your hands had been folded delicately over your midsection and your ankles were together. Just like the corpse on the other side of the room. Pennywise must have thought that was funny to have you mimic the dead.

'Fuck,' you groaned and heaved yourself up into a sitting position.

You were moist and uncomfortable and exhausted as if you had been drinking all night and had got into a pub fight. Swinging your legs over the side of the table, you held your head in one hand and with one bleary eye open, you swept a searching gaze over the room.

Pennywise.

He was no where to be seen and you were disappointed that he did not linger to say goodbye.

'Like a good little demon lover,' you muttered sullenly and the absurdity of it made you laugh.

You looked down at your shredded trousers and poked at the rags hanging off of your hips. There were claw marks across your lower belly that were just beginning to ooze blood and touching your wounds gingerly you winced with pain. Your coat would cover your nudity when you went to you car, so you weren't worried about being seen in this dreadful condition. But you definitely couldn't afford to have your clothes ruined each time he wanted to rip them off of you. It wasn't as if Pennywise would respect your boundaries in the slightest anyway, so if he wanted to abuse and mistreat you, and rip your clothes and your body asunder, he would do as he pleased. And you knew that you'd let him without as much as a complaint.

'I am so fucked,' you muttered.

You took in a long fortifying breath, straightened your shoulders and let it seep slowly out through your pursed lips. The soft whistling sound turned into a purr of satisfaction.

An unbearably silly thought bubbled into your mind.

I /got/ fucked and it was amazing.

Gingerly after you finished cleaning yourself, you tidied everything and completed your end of the shift checklist. Satisfied that none of your late night excursions with a demon clown would be discovered, you shrugged on your coat, grabbed your messenger bag, car keys and locked up for the night.

You took your time walking across the frosty car park and to your lonely car. There was nothing out that that frightened you, there was nothing more dangerous than the demon clown who haunted your steps. And since he hadn't killed you that night, you weren't sure if he ever would. The car tweeted briefly and the headlights winked when you depressed the keyfob button and you stopped, then looked around. Nothing. The night was silent. There was no laughter, no sounds of twinkling bells. Disappointment clenched in your gut. But all of that evaporated when you noticed the small rectangle of paper stuck beneath your windscreen wiper blade. You reached out and took two trembling steps closer to the car. With numb fingers, you plucked up what turned out to be a Poloroid and you turned it around so that you could look at the developed photo.

It was of a single red balloon.

Your head snapped up, eyes searching the darkness around you. A smile crept across your lips.

'See you soon!' you shouted into the night.

 

-END


End file.
